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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636775">Healing the Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnstonmara353/pseuds/Johnstonmara353'>Johnstonmara353</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Walking Dead (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Past Child Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:54:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnstonmara353/pseuds/Johnstonmara353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has a nightmare about past abuse. Andrea hears his tossing and turning from her tent and comes to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andrea/Daryl Dixon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Healing the Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Healing the Soul</p>
<p>Andrea/Daryl Dixon</p>
<p>Summary: Daryl has a nightmare about past abuse. Andrea hears his tossing and turning from her tent and comes to help. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Daryl’s kneeling on the concrete basement floor, waiting for the next blow to come. Waiting for the searing pain to hit his brain again. His body remaining tense from the previous blow. Wanting to fight back, but not being able to. His knuckles bloody from holding his weight against the floor for so long. The feeling in his wrists were long gone. He could already feel the bruises beginning to form from his fingers to his elbows. His knees split open; bone grinding against the cold ground. The rice his father had thrown on the floor earlier was now buried deep into his skin. Cutting open old scars and creating new ones. His father behind him; holding the bull whip in one hand and the bottle of vodka in the other. He heard the whip before it hit his skin. The swishing sound he had come so accustom to. A few seconds to brace himself before the skin on his back was ripped open again. The third strike in as many minutes. The searing pain was running through his body.</p>
<p>	His father took a swig out of the liquor bottle before spitting it on the open wounds that now covered Daryl’s back. “Stupid, ignorant, boy!” he screamed, as he brought the whip down again. Daryl’s screams were almost covered by his father’s laughter. “Where’s your protector, boy?” Merle was locked in juvie for the second time in five months. When he was home, his older brother took most of his father punishments. Protected him from his fathers wrath when he could. “Fucking, pathetic piece of trash!” He took the bottle of whiskey from the floor and poured it over his back. The searing pain almost causing him to lose consciousness. “Ain’t worth shit,” he mumbled as he climbed the stairs to the main floor. Leaving Daryl to suffer alone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Andrea could hear the whimpering when she passed by his tent. It was low. She had almost mistaken it for an animal off in the distance. She was on her way to her own sleeping bag after helping Carol clean the dishes in the house. Typically, Lori or Maggie would help Carol clean up after dinner. Andrea was usually working on something in the yard. Or running off to do something with Shane. She was never one of the first to volunteer with household chores. But that night she did. She stayed in the house with Carol and Hershel long after the dishes were done. Enjoying the company of someone besides the paranoid cop. She was trying to repair some of the relationships that had been damaged over the last few weeks. Wanting to show everyone that she would do anything that needed to be done. Someone that could get alone with everyone. That was her new goal while on the farm. </p>
<p>	It was getting close to midnight when she wondered out of the house. Saying goodnight to Hershel as she made her way down the steps. Everyone had gone to bed a few hours ago. So when she heard noises coming from Daryl’s tent, her ears perked up. His sleeping quarters were only a few yards away from hers. Closer than he would let most people to where he chose to relax. She had never heard noises like that coming from Daryl at any time. In the entire time she had known him, she had never heard him whimper in pain. She had never heard him cry. She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. Her palms becoming sweaty. He was sick or hurt. Something was wrong. Daryl didn’t whine or complain. </p>
<p>	She quietly entered the tent, zipping it back up behind her for privacy. She didn’t want anyone else wondering in while she was tending to their friend. He wouldn’t like her being in his private domain let alone anyone else. She slipped off her shoes before climbing on the piles of blankets that he had accumulated over the last several weeks. Daryl continued to whimper and softly cry out. Mumbling things that she couldn’t understand. Tossing and turning violently in his sleeping back. Begging for someone to stop. She remembered Amy having those nightmares in the weeks before she died. It ripped her heart from her chest seeing her little sister so terrified and she was now having that same reaction watching Daryl. His fists tightening in the fabric of his sleeping bag. The knuckles turning white as they clung on. His head thrown back, the tendons in his neck stretching to the limit. </p>
<p>	Andrea couldn’t stand watching the pain and terror on his face. She knelt next to his sleeping bag. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as he rolled back towards her. “Daryl, honey, wake up,” she whispered, shaking him lightly. He thrashed more. Nearly knocking her in the face in the process. She allowed him to roll on his back before she tried again. She gripped his shoulder and shook it gently. Watching his other arm in case he moved quickly again. “Daryl, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.” She gripped his arm harder when he tried to pull away, but instead of waking him up, she found herself suddenly pinned beneath him. His weight against her chest. His knees on either side of her hips. His arms holding hers above her head. His eyes dark as he panted in her face. “Daryl,” she whispered, struggling against his hands. He was closer to her than he had ever been. She could see the darkness in his eyes. With every pull of her arms, he tightened his hands around her wrists, bruising her skin. “Daryl, please wake up,” she whispered. Her body relaxing as she forced her eyes to stay open. She calmed her breathing, allowed her arms to fall limp. Slowly, she watched the recognition appear in his eyes. The fog was gone. His bright blue eyes were back. He recognized her and she saw an entire new fear grip him. The original nightmare over. A new one beginning for him. </p>
<p>	Daryl released her wrists, pulling himself away from her as quickly as possible. Refusing to look her in the eyes as he pulled himself as far from her as possible. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He sat with his back to her. Shoulders slumped. His head in his hands. What had he done? How could this have happened? She shouldn’t have been in there. She should’ve minded her own business. Now he had hurt her. He had put his hands on her without her permission. He was beginning to believe the things his father had said about him throughout his life. </p>
<p>	As stunned as Andrea was, she couldn’t help but be concern on why it happened in the first place. Daryl had never startled that badly before. It hadn’t been the first time she had woken him up for his turn on watch. She knelt behind him; her hand on his back. Feeling his hot skin almost scalding her. She hadn’t realized at the time that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She hadn’t been concerned about it. Now she was. His scars were now visible for her to see. She could feel them with her fingertips, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t want to startle him or offend him by reacting. She had never seen him without a shirt. Had never known him to sleep without one or had she ever thought to ask. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come in without announcing myself. I thought you might have been hurt or sick,” she whispered. </p>
<p>	Daryl shuddered as he felt her hand on his back. Felt the coolness of her touch against his hot skin. He knew she could feel the scars. But her hand didn’t move. She didn’t trace the marks like so many other women did. She didn’t gasp at the horror that was his skin. Her hand just remained frozen on his back. As far as he knew, she wasn’t reacting to this secret at all. He thought of what he had done to her. Even if he wasn’t awake when he had done it. He glanced behind him, catching her soft, sweet smile as she waited. “Did I hurt you?”</p>
<p>	She smiled wider, shaking her head. Her hand never moving from his back. She wanted to lean forward and kiss the scarred skin that was beneath her fingertips. She wanted to make all the hurt go away. But she knew if she did, he would take her kindness as pity. And she never wanted him to feel as if she felt sorry for him. “As if you could ever hurt me,” she replied.</p>
<p>	Daryl turned, sitting cross legged facing toward the entrance of the tent. It wasn’t facing her, but at least she could see his face. She could see the seriousness in his features. The dark circles under his eyes. He was looking at her hands that were in her lap. “Can I see?” he asked, quietly. </p>
<p>	Andrea offered her hands to him with a smile and nod. Feeling his hands wrap gently around her wrists sent shivers down her spine. He was being careful with her. It was a different side of Daryl than what she was used to. She watched him looking over her wrists and hands. Feeling his fingers run over the skin that he was pinning down moments ago. He hadn’t left a mark on her as she had expected. He had only startled her. “I’m fine,” she whispered, trying to catch his eyes. “I was just worried is all.” It was the safe way to say she was concerned about his crying and wanted to make sure he was all right before anyone else came wandering. But she couldn’t say that. Words were important when it came to Daryl. If he could take it the wrong way, he would. And he would be pissed as hell for days after. That was the last thing she wanted. </p>
<p>	Daryl leaned back against the pillow he had managed to find on one of their runs. Stretching his legs out in front of him. Rubbing his sweaty hands on his boxer shorts. “Just a nightmare. Ain’t nothing to worry about.” He didn’t know whether he wanted her to leave or not. Couldn’t understand why he didn’t feel more uncomfortable being in his tent with her in only his boxers. </p>
<p>	Andrea nodded, trying not to look at his body as the sleeping bag slipped from his hips.  From the scars on his back and cries in his sleep, she knew exactly what kind of nightmare. Working with law enforcement for over ten years, she had seen every case possible. She just wished she was wrong about Daryl. “I have them too,” she offered. “Mostly when I have to sleep alone.” She smiled to herself for a moment. Remembering something special. Something only one other person knew. “Amy used to chase the nightmares away,” she whispered. It was after Amy was in her late teens. She would come and stay with her in the city for the summers. Most nights she would migrate to Andrea’s bed due to the thrashing and crying. Amy had always had a way to calm her, sometimes without even waking her up. Some mornings she couldn’t remember Amy climbing into her bed, but she was always grateful that she was there. </p>
<p>	Daryl lifted his head. She didn’t talk about her sister very often since her death. He knew Andrea and Amy were twelve years apart. Amy was her little sister and barely six years old when she had left home. What could have possibly happened to her that her little sister would need to comfort her for? It made him think of Merle. He missed his brother more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t always the best brother in the world, but Merle was his protector. “Despite what everyone believes, Merle was always good with nightmares. He liked to chase the monsters away for me.” He smiled to himself as he thought of Merle with his little squirt bottle. He said it was a special monster-be-gone potion. Daryl knew now that it was just water. But it was the effort that made the difference to his five year old mind. </p>
<p>	This was what Andrea wanted. For him to talk to her. For him to open up about all the horrible things that happened to him as a kid. But she wanted him to want to tell her. She wanted him to want to tell someone. If she needed to tell her dark secret that only Amy knew, then she would. What was the point in keeping it now anyway. Amy was dead. Her parents were dead. And thank God, the man that hurt her was dead. There wasn’t anyone left alive that knew her secrets. “Amy didn’t know until she was sixteen. There was no reason to tell her before than. But she had just started dating this older boy and I wanted her to be prepared for any situation,” she paused for a moment. Remembering Amy was difficult for her. “Amy was so sweet to everyone. Easy to take advantage of if she really cared for you.” She glanced in his direction, before focusing back on her hands in her lap. “I didn’t want her to be afraid to say no.”</p>
<p>	Daryl listened, unconsciously rubbing his fingers over her knuckles. She wasn’t pulling away. Wasn’t trying to hide her emotions from him. She was sitting in front of him; raw. Someone had hurt her. Someone she cared about had taken advantage of her and he hated them for it. He had no idea who the ass hole was, but he suddenly wanted to kill the man. “Who was it?”</p>
<p>	Andrea shook her head. Her brow wrinkling at the memory. Daryl’s fingers continued to stroke her palm and wrist as the words left her mouth. “My uncle,” she paused, feeling the emotion for the first time since she told Amy. She hadn’t spoken of it again since that day. Amy never talked to her about it. Just comforted her when she woke up crying in the night. “When Amy was born, I went to stay with my aunt and uncle for a few weeks for my parents to get used to having a baby in the house again. I wasn’t there two days before he started sneaking in my room at night.” Andrea sat in silence for a moment, trying to erase those memories from her brain. Wanting so badly to forget the feeling of him on top of her. “It never happened again after I went back home and I never told anyone, until Amy was old enough.” She considered herself lucky that her uncle had died long before he could take any interest in her younger sister. And she was in college during his funeral. She never spoke to her aunt after his death. Once Amy was seventeen, she stopped talking to her parents. Only answering when Amy called her. When she did have to pick Amy up from their home, Andrea would wait for her in the car. Andrea didn’t know if Amy had ever told their parents what had happened. But they never mentioned anything to her. </p>
<p>	Daryl was disgusted. Wanted to rip the guys head off himself. What kind of man violated little kids? What kind of man took advantage of his niece that trusted him? It made him want to scream. “That why you became a lawyer?” he asked, nudging her shoulder.</p>
<p>	Andrea looked at him, almost amused. A small smile creeping on her lips. “How did you know I was a lawyer?”</p>
<p>	He laughed, trying to remain quiet. Thinking back to every disagreement he had witnessed. Every passionate statement she had made in his presence. “Please, you argue like a damn lawyer.”</p>
<p>	Andrea shook her head. She had never made any decisions in her life based on what her uncle did to her. If she had, she probably would have made very different choices. “I volunteered at the homeless shelter and suicide hotline in my hometown. I wanted to help people. I wanted to go into prosecution, but a year there I realized it was nothing but dirty politics and playing with people’s lives. I jumped into human rights law the second I got an offer.” She paused for a moment. “I just wanted to do something that made a difference.”</p>
<p>	He nodded. He understood what it felt like to want to change the life of just one person. To make a difference to one person. He couldn’t protect himself, but he couldn’t protect others from the same abuse. “I became a cop because I was tired of my dad kicking the shit out of me on a daily basis.”</p>
<p>	Andrea finally gestured to his back. Remembering the deep scars that had collected there. “Your dad?”</p>
<p>	He nodded, shifting slightly as his anxiety rose. Only Merle knew of the nightmare that was inside their home. They had never even talked about it with each other. But glancing at her face, and seeing the kindness in her eyes. The understanding written deep on her face. “Merle had been locked up in juvie for about a week. He usually took most of dad’s shit. I made the mistake of fucking existing and got the shit beat out of me with a bull whip.” He paused, stretching his legs out in front of him. For a moment, he debated on whether or not to continue. It wasn’t too late to tell her to go away. But he needed to tell someone. Needed to share it with someone that cared. Taking her hand in his and placing it on his knee. His hand covering hers. Moving her fingers along the scars. His eyes on hers, watching her brow wrinkle. “Rice,” he muttered. </p>
<p>	Andrea had seen her fair share of abuse cases in her career. She had seen no telling how many involving children kneeling on concrete and rice. She had seen the cuts before. Her heart ached for him. But her face shown nothing. If she showed him any reaction he would take it as pity. She needed to let him finish. That’s what he really wanted. “Tell me,” she whispered.</p>
<p>	He lifted her hand to his abdomen, just below his last rib. She could feel the scar below her fingertips. This one was different. Surgical. His skin was hot underneath her fingers. She could feel his heart beating hard in his chest. “He kicked me while I was down and ruptured my spleen.” Daryl could remember his father carrying him into the emergency room with a fever. His father pretending to care. Staying by the bedside to prevent him from telling the nurses what had really happened. He lifted her hand again, to the back of his head. The scar there was faint, but still very much there. “Beer bottle,” he whispered. When he was ten years old, his father had thrown the bottle at the back of his after Daryl had knocked over a glass of milk. </p>
<p>	She had heard the stories before. Had seen the victims. But she had never felt their scars. Had never known them on a deeper more intimate level. She hadn’t spent every day with them. Not like she had with Daryl. She had spent the last five months with him. Always suspecting trauma but never asking. Now, she was searching for the right words. The ones that would convey her emotions, but not piss him off and have him pull away. She pulled his hand into her lap, turning and sitting next to him with her back against his pillow. Smiling as he scooted over, turning slightly to see her face. She ran her fingers over the lines of his hand. Tracing the lines leading to his wrist. Feeling his muscles twitch in response. Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she brought his hand to hers. Moving his fingers over the scars. This was how she could show her understanding and compassion. She needed to share herself with him. Make herself just as vulnerable. “First time was at sixteen, the second was at nineteen.” Revealing to him that the CDC wasn’t the first time she let her grief and depression get the best of her. At sixteen, she had slit her wrist in the bath tub while her parents were away for a weekend. She assumed she would die. The only thing she remembered about the day she was found was her father’s face as he lifted her from the tub and calling an ambulance. The second time, she hand been alone in her dorm. She had forgotten she had given a key to her boyfriend and he found her the morning after. “I was so angry that no one noticed anything was different when I came back home. No one asked why I wouldn’t talk about my time with my aunt and uncle.” She gripped his hand, now telling him things Amy hadn’t even known. “I graduated early and moved into my dorm while the ink was still wet. I couldn’t be in that house anymore. I couldn’t try to understand them anymore. I worked my ass off through school and got a job offer right after I passed the bar.” She moved his hand, lifting her shirt and placing his warm hand below her bra. A four inch jagged scar. “Stabbed in court after I lost the appeal.” She remembered the feeling of the hot blade as it pierced her skin. She remembered the man’s face being the pit of all evil. Smirking as she slid down to the floor. Shots rang out a few moments later, but for those few moments, she wasn’t sure she would be going home. </p>
<p>	Daryl didn’t look at her at first. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable. She was revealing her body to him. Showing him things that no one else had seen. But he remembered when she was stabbed. Remembered hearing it on the news and being shocked a civil rights lawyer had been stabbed in a courtroom. He turned to her. His hand still on her abdomen. His fingers running over the rough patch of skin. “I remember when you were stabbed,” he looked at her, astonished he hadn’t recognized her until now. “Our entire shift couldn’t believe a lawyer fighting for a persons civil rights in a very public appeal was attacked in court by her client.” He brushed the hair from her face with his free hand. He could see it now. Without the makeup, hair pins, and the power suit to hide behind, he hadn’t noticed her in the group. But in his tent, in the middle of the night, he could see the woman in the courtroom again. The woman that had almost lost her life helping someone else. “I had no idea it was you.”</p>
<p>	She smiled, holding his hand tight to her. His warm hand against her cool stomach sent shivers through her body. It had been a long time since she felt someone else’s body heat. “Apparently no one else has either. Which surprises me with Shane and Rick being law enforcement.” She brought his hand away from her body, moving it to the side of her head. Right inside her hairline. Now he could see her. Could see the memories flashing through her mind. He could feel the scar. It was about an inch long. You would never notice it, if you didn’t know it was there. “The man I was gonna marry knocked me unconscious one night with the cast iron pan we got as an engagement gift.” Andrea couldn’t remember much from that night. Couldn’t remember what they had been arguing about. It had been the first and last time he hit her. She released his hand, but he didn’t move. “Amy filed the restraining order for me while I was in surgery to stop him from coming to the hospital. She was only seventeen at the time.” Andrea felt his fingers moving in her hair, but she didn’t react. If she flinched away, he would see it as rejection. “She lived with me for a year after that. Taking care of me,” she muttered, despite the tightness in her chest. </p>
<p>	Daryl shifted closer to her. He had found someone who could feel his pain unlike anyone else. Childhood trauma was much different than dealing with what they were now. Children processed things differently. The fear and anxiety stayed with you much longer than running from the dead. You knew what to expect from the dead. The living was what was terrifying. People were not predictable. “We wouldn’t be who we are without those scars.”</p>
<p>	Andrea stood before him. She lifted the t-shirt over her head, dropping it to the ground at her feet. He could see the scar on her stomach now. He could see the black and blue bruises that littered her skin. He could see the goosebumps rising on her chest as a chill passed through her body. As his eyes scanned up her body, he noticed her eyes were closed. It looked as if she were having an internal struggle with herself. He saw the single tear run down her cheek. He wanted so badly to brush it away. Her hands were shaking as they brushed against the long scar on her stomach. She took a deep shaky breath through her nose. Andrea’s hands finally settled on the hem on her jeans. She didn’t want to keep anymore secrets. She wanted someone to really know who she was. Someone that could tell her story if she died. Her fingers working quickly on the button of her jeans before her nerves got the better of her. Daryl covered her hand with his. He didn’t want her upset and shaking. He didn’t want her doing anything that would make her shake that badly. Didn’t want her crying over things that didn’t need to be talked about. “What are you doing?” Her eyes met his for a moment, as if she were coming out of a dream. </p>
<p>	Andrea looked away. The tears building in her eyes. It was the last one. The last secret she held. The last reason that would explain why she is the way she is. Why she was so cold. Why she was so distant. Why she didn’t want anyone touching her. No one had cared for her before. No one had noticed things were wrong before. “One more,” she whispered. He lifted his hand from hers. Allowing her to continue. He was already sitting in front of her in nothing but his boxers. It couldn’t get more inappropriate. He watched her slide the jeans down her hips. Allowing them to pull at her feet before kicking them away. She stood in front of him in her black panties and bra. She took his hand and slid it up her inner thigh. Her skin was ice cold under his touch. Her body shaking uncontrollably. Daryl could feel the scars as he passed over them. If he had to guess, there were probably ten or twenty. The self inflicted wounds from a razor blade. He knew them well. He could also tell by the look on her face that she never allowed someone to have this type of access. “No one has seen them. Amy didn’t know.” Well, no one that was still alive had seen them. </p>
<p>	“Tell me,” he whispered. </p>
<p>	Andrea placed her hand over his against her thigh. Searching for the strength to continue. This was more than she bargained for when she entered Daryl’s tent. She hadn’t expected to be standing in her underwear revealing her deepest secrets to the man that had barely said two kind words to her since they met. “It started at fifteen,” she shook her head. Pausing as the memories flashed back at her. “I hated myself for what he had done. I hated my parents for sending me away to him. I hated my aunt for not stopping it,” she opened her eyes, making that final connection with him. “I hated myself for not telling anyone. I couldn’t control how I was feeling. I couldn’t tell anyone why I was so pissed off all the time.” She shrugged her shoulder as if it were nothing, but Daryl knew different. The tears slid down her face silently. “I had a boyfriend in college. He always thought it was weird that I wouldn’t turn the lights on whenever we had sex. He got up before me one morning and saw them.” She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. “When I woke up, he looked at me like I was pathetic. He didn’t ask why and I didn’t try to explain. I never saw him again anyway.”</p>
<p>	Daryl moved his thumb over the scars. “We all have scars, Andrea,” he whispered. He hardly ever used her name when he addressed her. Choosing instead to use the many nicknames he had come up with for her. “Your scars, whether self inflicted or not, don’t define you. They show how far you’ve come.”</p>
<p>	Andrea shifted to her knees, placing her hands on Daryl’s shoulders. Silently asking him if this was okay. This was closer than they had ever been. Both exposed and raw. But she was still afraid of overstepping. Still afraid he would turn her away and shut down. Maybe keeping her secrets and maybe using them against her later. His hands dropped to her waist. His fingers gripping her skin harder than he intended, but she didn’t mind. She was suddenly craving the strong stability he offered. When she didn’t receive any resistance, she moved closer, straddling his lap. Wanting to be as close to him as possible. She settled against his thighs. Her fingers tracing the scars on his right shoulder. “What about the ones we can’t see?”</p>
<p>	Daryl leaned into her. His lips next to her ear. “Those are the most important,” he paused, moving his hand to cover the left side of her chest. “Those scars make this,” he whispered, pulling back to see her face. “All the pain, fear, anger, and hurt stays there. Makes your heart stronger. Makes you more compassionate.” He leaned closer to her, his lips inches away from hers. “You take in so much pain, so much hurt and fear into your heart. You take everyone’s pain upon yourself. If it could make them feel better for a little while, you would take their pain inside your heart. You would feel it for them. You do feel it.” He rested his forehead against hers. “That’s why you came in here tonight. You felt the fear and you wanted to take it away.” He kissed her forehead, lingering a little too long. “But you have to let someone take yours away, too. You have to let someone in.”</p>
<p>	Andrea inhaled sharply, feeling his lips against her skin. Her walls suddenly falling. Every brick she had put up around herself was gone. Every secret finally out in the world. Someone else could carry that burden for her. She caught his eyes. “You’re in...”</p>
<p>	Daryl knew the moment her walls came tumbling down. He could feel her entire body relax. All the tension fading away. All the fears disappearing. And he couldn’t help but feel the same way. He felt lighter, as if something had lifted. Daryl’s hand lifted her chin. Forcing the eye contact. But once his eyes met hers, if didn’t feel forced. He nodded to the sleeping bag. “It’s late,” he muttered, running his hand up her cold back. “Stay here.”</p>
<p>	Andrea nodded, using his shoulders to stand. She thought about pulling her clothes back on, but he had already seen everything. He had seen everything and still wanted her to stay. She curled up on one side of his pile of blankets. </p>
<p>	Daryl watched her for a moment. Giving her every opportunity to leave and giving himself enough time to back out. Neither of them faltered. He climbed in the top sleeping bag with her. Pressing his chest against her back. Wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her further into him. The trembling in her body soon ceased. His face buried in the side of her neck. “You’re in...” he whispered against her skin.</p>
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